


ours are the moments I play in the dark

by firebreathing_bitchqueen



Series: spell it out for me {alphabet prompts} [2]
Category: The Wayhaven Chronicles (Interactive Fiction)
Genre: Agent M? catching feels? more likely than you'd think, F/F, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:40:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26291293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firebreathing_bitchqueen/pseuds/firebreathing_bitchqueen
Summary: Morgan has always preferred doing to thinking.
Relationships: Female Detective/Morgan (The Wayhaven Chronicles)
Series: spell it out for me {alphabet prompts} [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1910110
Kudos: 31





	ours are the moments I play in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> this headcanon brought to you by the letter J for "jacking off" (and also by the feels M is definitely *not* catching).

Morgan is not opposed to engaging in a little bit (or a lot) of self-love. In point of fact, if she kept a calendar (which of course she does not – she’s not _Ava_ , for Christ’s sake), one might find some “self-care” time blocked out at regular intervals: partners always welcome, never required. She’s not especially given to toys – as sensitive as she is, her own hands (or someone else’s) are more than sufficient – nor is she particularly prone to elaborate fantasizing. Again, she’s sensitive enough that just focusing on the sensory impact of her own arousal as it builds is more than enough to bring her to completion. Plus, listen, she’s not what you would call the cerebral kind. Not like Nat, for instance: too much thinking, not nearly enough doing.

Morgan overwhelmingly prefers the _doing_ end of that spectrum.

Lately, though, she’s found herself on roads less traveled – more preoccupied. Behind locked doors, her fingers slipping between her thighs, she’s found her mind slipping to thoughts of the detective. While in truth it’s the pad of her own thumb moving in urgent circles, her own fingers slick with exploration, in her mind, lately, they belong to someone else. Someone else’s hands (or better still, her _mouth_ ) are teasing her apart, stroking with gentle persistence as she coaxes the oversensitive vampire towards crescendo. Someone else’s hands that are entirely, surprisingly, frustratingly unbothersome. That are soft, and warm, and soothe Morgan’s hypervigilant nerve endings until she almost forgets so much sensation could ever be unpleasurable, could ever bring anything other than the blinding _this_.

After, she feels a little strange when she thinks too much about it. About how peculiar and new this shift in her is. Luckily, she doesn’t spend _too_ much time thinking about it. About the detective. About how her hands seem more silk than flesh. About how often those hands slip into her mind (and from there to other, more southerly locales).

After all, Morgan much prefers _doing_ to mere _thinking_.


End file.
